


Necessary

by McCharmly



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, but Ringo definitely wants to, technically hurt/comfort but George got hurt offscreen so it doesn't count, they don't kiss I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26951713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McCharmly/pseuds/McCharmly
Summary: Even in all his time in a gang, Ringo had never seen a man take a punch like that before. Fuck, he had never seen a man get hit by a bus before, but there was a first time for everything.--George gets into a fight to defend Ringo's honour. Ringo feels bad about it.
Relationships: George Harrison/Ringo Starr
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	Necessary

“Oh, _George_ …”  
  
George winced as Ringo ran his thumb under the swell of his cheek. It shouldn’t have been a surprise; the bruising around George’s eye looked _awful_ . Even in all his time in a gang, Ringo had never seen a man take a punch like that before. Fuck, he had never seen a man get hit by a _bus_ before, but there was a first time for everything.  
  
Nobody had expected a Best fan to start shit. Plenty of fans had been sour with the lads’ decision to replace Pete with Ringo, but not one of the four figured that any of them would try to get into a fight. Well, tonight, they had been proven wrong. Fists were thrown, vile words spat, and George had gotten involved in the _worst_ way. The guy had planted a nasty punch right on George’s eye and ended up shoving him into the road. Thank _fuck_ the bus driver had seen George - a minute too late, and George would’ve been goo stuck to an indicator light.  
  
Now, back in their hotel room, Ringo could get a proper look at him. George had insisted he didn’t have to go to the hospital, and nothing ‘felt broken’. The other boys had to trust him, when he was this stubborn. Still, that hadn’t stopped Paul from fussing over him like a mother, or John threatening some form of extreme violence if they found the guy who did this. Ringo hadn’t been able to get a proper look at George until hours later.  
  
“It was him or me,” George told him, smirking with the corner of his mouth. “I’m tough. I can take a bus.”  
  
“ _Can_ doesn’t mean you _should_.”  
  
Ringo’s hand moved from George’s cheek to his shoulder. He had wanted to run his thumb over George’s lip, just to examine it, but was very aware of how _queer_ that would be. Even holding George’s face the way he had just done was too queer for most peoples’ liking, but with just the two of them in the room, it wasn’t like anyone was there to stop them.  
  
He wished George hadn’t done this. Not just because he got hurt, though that was clearly a big part of it; no, it was because he had done it for _Ringo_. The newest addition to the band, having met the lads not too long ago - Ringo hadn’t deserved George getting hurt.  
  
“You _sure_ you don’t need the hospital?” Ringo asked, his gaze casting down at George’s body. He was so skinny, obvious even when wearing a bulky sweater. Ringo was honestly surprised that the force of the punch hadn’t snapped him right in half.  
  
George leaned away from Ringo now, giving a huff. “I told you lot already that I’m fine. You sound like _Paul_.”  
  
“ _Ohh,_ ” Ringo exhaled, raising his finger to his chin. “Wouldn’t want to sound like Paul.”  
  
Of course they were only playing around, but there was some truth to it. Ringo knew how much George hated being treated like the youngest, and how much Paul _loved_ treating George like the youngest.  
  
George pulled himself from the sofa. He had been sat there for at least two hours now, just letting the other boys fawn over him. But as he strode across the room and pulled his cigarettes from the jacket hung against the door, Ringo could tell he wasn’t willing to be put up with being babied any longer.  
  
“Give us one too,” Ringo said, leaning against the back of the sofa and wiggling his fingers at George. “Been a long day.”  
  
“You’re fuckin’ tellin’ me.”  
  
George lit both cigarettes in his mouth at once. He perched on the back of the sofa and passed one over to Ringo, who indulged himself in a long drag. He wished that the guilt that had been resting in his heart could be exhaled with the smoke.  
  
He rolled the cigarette between his fingers. “Sorry.”  
  
“Don’t.”  
  
George hadn’t looked at Ringo since passing the cigarette. He was curled in on himself, puffing at the thing desperately. Ringo licked his lips, knowing that he should drop it. He tried to apologise, and George wasn’t taking it. It wasn’t something he had to bring up. George didn’t _want_ him to bring it up. But it just didn’t… sit right.  
  
Ringo swallowed. “No.”  
  
George turned at that, his dark eyes meeting with Ringo’s sharp blues.  
  
“I’m _sorry_ , George. For gettin’ you involved. I ain’t even a proper part of the group—”  
  
“Ringo—”  
  
“And you got in a scuffle on my account—”  
  
“Richie—”  
  
“And I got you hit by a fuckin’ _bus_ —”  
  
“ _Richard._ ”  
  
Ringo’s head snapped up at that, finding George leaning over him. His eyes, already dark and intimidating, were covered in shadow, and the bruise had left only one visible. It bore into Ringo, making him freeze up, not finding the bravery to move an inch. Not with George looking at him like an angry tiger.  
  
“Shut the fuck up.”  
  
Well, that took Ringo aback. He had said too much. Men, _real_ men, real _Northern_ men, they didn’t care about a scuffle. They didn’t apologise. And they definitely didn’t talk about not ‘fitting in’. George could probably see right through Ringo, the weak-willed and pathetic man he was.  
  
The hand on Ringo’s shoulder made him jump. He hadn’t even seen George move, instead locked on his gaze. The younger man squeezed at Ringo, his expression gradually defrosting.  
  
“I don’t wanna hear aught about you not bein’ a proper part of the group.” George gave Ringo a brief shake. “Wouldn’t take a fist to the face and a bus to the bollocks for someone who weren’t a proper part of the group, like. For someone who weren’t my mate.”  
  
George shot Ringo another half-mouthed smile. The tip of his canine rested against his lip, and Ringo suddenly wanted to replace the cigarette in George’s mouth with his thumb.  
  
“Don’t make me regret it,” George continued, exhaling cigarette smoke. “If you say sorry, I’ll just think it weren’t necessary. And if it weren’t necessary, it means Paul’s right. And if _Paul’s_ right…” He shuddered. “Hell’ll bloody freeze over.”  
  
Ringo finally gave a laugh, relaxing back against the sofa. He scooted along closer to George, resting the side of his head against the younger man’s thigh. From this angle, he could see a whole new angle of George’s face. The black eye was almost completely hidden by his nose, and the sharpness of his features stood out. He looked more like a _man_ than a boy.  
  
Ringo wanted to drag his _lips_ against George’s.  
  
“I ain’t sorry, then.” Ringo took a drag of his cigarette. “But I owe you a pint.”  
  
George laughed at that, head tilting back, his fangs shown off in a beautiful display. Maybe he was right after all, Ringo thought, about him being part of the group. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been there from the start, that he didn’t know any of the boys as long as they had known each other. He would have done exactly what George did, for any of them. Ringo could take a bus.  
  
George’s smile directed at Ringo made his heart skip a beat. “Well I ain’t gonna turn a pint down.”


End file.
